


The Boner Effect

by elpollodiablo, thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Het Anal, Inappropriate Erections, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elpollodiablo/pseuds/elpollodiablo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Desmond has an issue with the animus. Lucy lends a hand.
Relationships: Desmond Miles/Lucy Stillman
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	The Boner Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noun/gifts).



On his fourth day in the animus, back at Abstergo, when Lucy pulled him out he had a hard-on the size of the lighthouse in Acre. She was really polite and ignored it, or maybe she just didn't know what to say that wasn't _is that a genetic memory sequence in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me_ , but the effect was the same either way. They moved on, pretended it hadn't happened, and pretended it didn't happen again when it happened again. And again. And _again_. The bleeding effect wasn't the only side effect the tech had, it turned out. It was all he could do not to call it the Boner Effect.

Six days ago, they arrived in Monteriggioni and set up the animus 2.0 in the place where Ezio had lived once, a pretty long time ago if you thought about time that way. When she pulled him out he had a hard-on maybe half the size of the Campanile di San Marco, not that he was whipping it out to take measurements; Ezio kind of has that effect sometimes, Desmond thinks, the way women draw his eye and he draws theirs. And this time, when Lucy noticed, _wow_ : she really noticed. She looked down at his dick that was straining in his jeans, she looked up at his face that was flushed and kinda awkward, and she raised her eyebrows archly. He was pretty sure she was suggesting something. Mostly, though, he was just relieved Shaun didn't notice; he never would've let him hear the end of it. 

She gave him a look, and a flick of her eyes, and then she walked away. Once he'd unzipped his hoodie to use for maybe-plausible cover (maybe he'd just gotten too hot, who knew) and followed her out into the stairwell, she shoved him up against the wall. She stroked him through his jeans till his boner was a memory and his jeans really needed an appointment with the local laundromat, then she left him there, with just a hint of a smile over her shoulder as she went. That's Lucy: she can give a guy a hand and still keep him guessing. It's a skill.

The next day, it happened again. And once she'd pulled him back out of the animus, hard-on the size of the Hagia Sophia, she gave him a look, and she gave _it_ a look, and she walked away again. This time, in the stairwell, she pushed him up face first against the wall and rubbed his dick through his jeans with the heel of her hand till his too-hot breath had made the age-old paintwork damp, and also something else had. Something lower. 

"You better clean that up, Desmond," she told him, with a maybe-teasing smile, then he walked away; he slumped against the goddamn wall and watched her go, with that swing to her hips he really wished he'd never noticed. It made him curse under his breath. Something did, at least. 

The next day, he cursed out loud when she left; she winked back at him over her shoulder. The next day, he catcalled; she laughed and blew him a kiss. And yesterday, when he followed her out, she took his hand and slapped it down straight over his crotch; she got him off like that, rubbing his dick against his own hand. That's just kind of how it is with her, he guesses - he's so damn horny half the time that she could smack him in the stiff one with a rolled up copy of _La gazzetta dello sport_ and he'd probably still get off on it. 

Today, though, she wasn't in the stairwell. She was gone when he excused himself from Shaun and fricking eagle-eyed Rebecca, who he's pretty sure knows exactly what's what right here in Monteriggioni. So he figured maybe she'd gotten sick of him going off like a rocket, or like a high school kid with a crush on his super-hot science teacher, and she'd decided to just leave him to it. Made sense, he guessed, even if it was kinda disappointing. So he figured what the hell, he could get the job done himself. God knows he's had to do it often enough before. 

The goddamn crying shame of it is, though, he could get it up - 'cause it was already up - and he could stand there in the stairwell like that wasn't the shittiest place in all of Italy to go jerk off, and he could slump forward against the wall and rub himself over the zipper of his jeans till his goddamn palm felt raw, but he couldn't get off. He figures somewhere between Ezio Auditore and Lucy Stillman, his brain's gotten rewired. Now he needs an old Italian dude to get him hard and a hot American girl to seal the deal.

He bangs his head against the wall - not hard, not like his genius dick - but hard enough to feel it. He never wanted to be an Assassin in the first place, he thinks. Now even onanism's off the cards. 

But then the door opens. He glances back over his shoulder, and Lucy quirks a brow. 

"What, you couldn't even wait five minutes?" she asks, with a teasing smile. Then she comes right over to him. She insinuates herself between him and the wall - that's how she does it, too, she _insinuates_ , like he thinks the word sounds, slipping in there like a really blond snake. She pushes her denim-clad ass against his denim-clad dick and she says, "The jeans have really gotta go, Miles. C'mon. We're on the clock here."

He doesn't ask what kind of clock she's talking about, because he's pretty sure she's just teasing him somehow, but wow, he doesn't need to be told twice; he unbuckles his belt and shoves his jeans down around his thighs and his dick springs out against her jeans. She unbuckles her belt, too. She pushes her jeans down, too. And when he runs his hands over her ass - which he's pretty sure is evidence of the divine right there, something something golden ratio, da Vinci should've been so lucky - he sees a hint of a shine between her cheeks. His dick twitches. His heart beats real fast. And when he spreads her open, he gets it: she's slick down there, some kind of lube, Vaseline, KY, who even knows, let alone knows where she got it from when they're basically hermits inside the Villa Auditore. 

"This is where you went?" he asks, against her neck, as he rubs his dick between her shiny cheeks. 

She chuckles. "Well, I'm not running out to the local drugstore to pick up a pack of prophylactics, Desmond," she replies. "And I'm pretty sure you don't want me to go ask Shaun if we can use the condom in his wallet that expired in 1982." She arches her back. She braces herself against the wall and rubs against him, one hundred percent on purpose. "So, we make do with what we have."

Apparently, what she has is a really hot ass that she's asking him to fuck. Apparently, what he has is a boner the size of Topkapı that he's allowed to fuck her with. So he rubs the leaking tip between her cheeks and presses it up against her hole. He gives a push. And fuck, she must've had a goddamn field day back there getting ready because hell if he doesn't practically just slide right in, right up, balls-deep inside her. 

"Hey, Lucy?" he says, as he shifts his hips. And maybe he's gotten in real easily but jeez, now he has, she feels really tight. 

"Yes, Desmond?" she replies. 

"Next time, can I watch you get ready?" he asks, and she laughs against the wall. 

"If you're really good, maybe." And okay, so maybe, just maybe, he takes that advice to heart. 

He slips one hand down from the wall and runs it down between her legs. Her jeans are around her thighs just like his are so it's easy enough to find her cunt, the thin line of hair that leads down to her slit, and when he gets there, oh fuck, she's really wet. He squeezes her there, traces her lips with one fingertip and then eases it in between; she's _so_ wet, so hot, and she doesn't make him stop. He fiinds her opening and pushes his fingers in, the first two, knuckle-deep, and Lucy moans. 

The rest is pretty easy, he guesses, to say he was having issues even jerking off not ten minutes ago. She shifts her hips against his hand, shoves them back and takes his cock up deep into her ass, then his hand, then his cock, till she's doing all the work herself. All he has to do is keep still and let it happen, which he guesses it exactly how it had been before; he hadn't exactly done a whole lot except let Lucy get him off. She gasps. She clenches. She spasms inside and fuck if his fingers aren't drenched with her, fuck if that doesn't do it for him, too. He could almost fall the fuck down when he comes inside her, but she laughs and pushes him back and pulls him in and holds him up, and holds him close. 

"So, did Ezio ever do that here?" she asks, as she starts tucking him back into his jeans. 

"I don't know," he replies. "I guess maybe I haven't gotten that far in."

She grins. "Oh, I think you just did," she says, and she winks, and she pulls up her jeans. 

When he watches her go, her hips swing just like always, but the wet spot by her asshole is absolutely all him. And maybe the lube, he guesses. 

He's pretty sure when he gets back into the animus, it'll happen again; he'll wind up so hard in his jeans that he's pretty sure it's straining something and like maybe journeying into his ancestors memories is a task best done in the buff. Shaun would have a thing or two to say, not like there's times he doesn't, but it would make certain post-animus activities a whole lot more direct. 

But hey, at least maybe now his jeans'll get a rest. And maybe his daily animus wood isn't the curse he'd thought it was.


End file.
